Love in Bloom (Mature)
by The BestChaser
Summary: "I created all this," Newt explained, making a sweeping gesture with his hand to encompass the entire case. "My magic nourishes it and holds it together. I realised quite early on that my feelings can have a direct effect on how it behaves; the stronger the emotion I experience, the stronger the, uh, reaction."
1. Chapter 1

**Love in Bloom**

A continuation (of sorts) for my story "Blizzard of love", my submission for the Fantastic Beasts Secret Santa and the lovely ravens-and-writings.

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CHAPTER 1

Warm light and soft laughter filled the air when they popped into existence on the fine rug in Newt's drawing room. Jacob and Queenie had retired to the sofa in front of the fireplace and turned the lights down low to build a fire in the hearth; its golden glow illuminated their faces and the smells of roasting chestnuts lingered in the air. It was perfect, so warm and full of life, and Newt found his flat had never felt so much like home.

They seemed entirely engrossed in their conversation and Newt, unwilling to disturb the idyllic scene before them, put a finger to his lips, indicating to Tina to follow him. Neither of them noticed Queenie's knowing look or the happy giggles escaping her lips as she tuned into their thoughts.

His case lay propped open in a corner of his bedroom and he didn't hesitate, swiftly lifting the lid and stepping down the narrow staircase with practised ease.

Tina followed on unsteady feet, consciously picking her way and trying her hardest not to miss a step, blindly groping the wall for purchase.

Every time she entered the case it felt like peeking into his very soul; a place where he shed unnecessary layers of clothing along with his stiffly-tailored suit of social expectations, where he could be entirely free.

He had upheld part of his stilted mannerisms the first few times she had visited in a lukewarm attempt to follow social decorum, losing his great coat and suit jacket upon entering the shed but leaving his waistcoat and bow tie intact.

Things had changed with time and, knowing he felt comfortable enough with her to show his true self, she felt honoured to join him in his personal sanctuary. When the inside of his shed came into view he had already freed himself of his jacket and waistcoat, entirely unconcerned, shirt untucked and his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck.

Newt reached for her at the bottom of the steps, his left arm wrapping securely around her waist while his right hand cradled her elbow. He stepped away reluctantly when her feet reached solid ground, his eyes and fingertips lingering on her skin as he struggled to put distance between them.

"I think it might be prudent if we take on separate tasks this evening. There's something I'd like to show you and I have a feeling we might be a little more effective this way," he murmured, giving weight to his words as he lifted a hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

"Are you saying I'm distracting you, Mr Scamander?" she said with a saucy grin, showing the dimple in her right cheek, and he swayed closer again, drawn in by the amused twinkle in her eyes.

"You'll always have my full attention, Miss Goldstein," he said, angling his head, his face mere inches from her own.

She flailed at the look of wonder in his eyes, and her heart lurched at his soft smile and openly admiring gaze.

He closed the gap and captured her lips in a firm, unhurried kiss, silencing her thoughts and making her heart sing. Tina sighed into his mouth, pulling him closer by the loose ends of his bow tie and pressed into his warmth.

"Hmmm, didn't you say something about feeding rounds?" she murmured after some time, tasting the answering grin on his lips and sensing the echo of his laughter on her fingertips as he pulled her tight against his chest, ignoring her words entirely.

A loud crash sounded off in the distance and Newt stepped back with a groan, dropping his hands against his sides and turning to glance over his shoulder. "That'll be Dougal looking for his dinner. Come on then, we better start."

—

He found her half an hour later, kneeling on a blanket of leaves in front of the wandwood tree, offering woodlice to a wary group of bowtruckles. Newt stepped closer, lips pulling into an amused half smile at the scene before him. Dougal faded in and out of visibility where he hovered two paces behind an exasperated Tina, arms stretched out before him as if ready to intervene should the need arise.

The demiguise had shadowed her from the moment she had set off for the feeding rounds and Newt had watched the unlikely pair make their way through the case, intrigued by this new development.

Tina's nature was so different to his own; where he was quick and fidgety and always on the move, she was calm and collected, stoically following her path in precisely-measured steps. She was his exact opposite, yet the creatures seemed to accept her entirely and without question, just as if she'd always been there, like she'd belong here with them. With him.

"I don't think they like me very much," Tina commented, rising to her feet as she sensed his presence behind her.

"Don't worry yourself," he commented, stepping up next to her. "They don't really like anyone at the moment, annoying little buggers. Come on, there's something I'd like to show you."

He held out his hand for her to take and pulled her to her feet, leading her through the wandwood and into a small clearing where he brushed aside the branches of a willow tree like parting a curtain. They stepped into an unfamiliar habitat and Tina grinned at the sight, shielding her eyes against the sun and delighting in the warmth caressing her skin.

A wide, sweeping grassland opened up before her, ringed by an array of knobbly old trees and bathed in the soft, golden light of late spring in the English countryside.

There was a slight elevation at its centre, crowned by a single, ancient horse chestnut tree. It was magnificent, and formidable in size, with its vast, leafy branches spread wide in welcome.

Tina was awestruck as she looked around, wondering what sort of magical creature was inhabiting this extraordinary space. The grass below was long and soft, gently swaying in the fragrant breeze, and she was suddenly struck with an intense longing to feel it against the bare soles of her feet. Birds were singing in the trees and there was the sound of crickets chirping in the distance.

She felt weightless, perfectly serene. Entirely at peace.

Newt stood at the very centre of the pasture, lifting two fingers to his lips to produce a sharp, shrill whistle and Tina blinked against the light, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she detected movement from the corner of her eye.

Something large appeared at the edge of the trees, flying at them in a blur of silver and gold. It was a winged horse of formidable size, wild and beautiful to behold, with snowy wings that caught the light like the mother of pearl buttons on Newt's shirt and a golden fur shimmering like liquid metal.

Tina allowed herself a moment of worry, holding her breath and clenching her fingers at her sides as she watched the creature barrel towards Newt at breakneck speed. He spread his wings and dug his hooves into the ground at the last moment, screeching to a halt mere inches from Newt's face, and Tina gasped, pressing a hand to her racing heart.

He seemed unperturbed, stepping closer with a series of hums and low murmurs that sounded suspiciously like a whiny, clicking his tongue at the magnificent beast when he bent his neck in welcome. Newt turned his head, blowing a small stream of air into his nostril and smiled when the horse shook his enormous head with a high-pitched squeak before reaching out to run his fingers from his nose to his forehead, rubbing the space between his eyes.

"He's beautiful, Newt," Tina said while tentatively shuffling closer, carefully maintaining a safe distance from the shimmering steed and his hooves the size of dinner plates.

"Magnificent, isn't he? He's an Abraxan winged horse," Newt said in way of explanation. "I found him at a farm down in Kent, his owner didn't realise what he was or that he's much too young to do any work. Odd fellow, and not very skilled at concealment charms at that."

"You mean he's not fully grown yet?" she asked in mild disbelief, eyeing the golden creature that was already larger than any horse she'd ever encountered.

Newt had walked around the beast, fingers never leaving his glossy fur as he came to stand at his flank. The creature lowered his head and spread his wings for him to inspects his feathers, and Newt ran his hands through the lustrous scapulars at the base, gently putting them to rights. "No. He's just a baby."

Tina looked at him, one eyebrow raised in incredulity, not quite sure whether baby was precisely the word she would have chosen to describe him.

"Here, would you like to feed him? He's a wee bit shy of strangers, but I think he might trust you enough to let you close," he said, fishing a piece of apple from his pocket and holding it out for her to take.

Tina reached out, accepting the fruit with a hesitant glance as Newt smiled at her in encouragement. "You're not expecting me to whinny too, right? Because I'm not doing that," she declared and he laughed, shaking his head.

Relieved, she moved closer, carefully averting her eyes like he'd taught her, making herself appear as small and unthreatening as possible and extending her arm towards the horse. He took an audible whiff of her scent, breathing shallowly as he slowly bent his neck towards her, extending it as far as he could reach before taking a tentative step in her direction.

"That's it, Tina. Let him come to you," Newt said, obvious pride lacing his voice, positively beaming at her. "Now open your hand, put the apple at the centre of your palm and hold it flat, like a plate. He won't bite. Here, like this."

He stepped up behind her, gently uncurling her fingers and supporting them from below, his free hand a comforting presence on her shoulder as the horse plucked the apple from her palm. The creature's breath was warm on her skin, his nose incredibly soft as his lips gently skimmed her hand. She stared at him in wonder, extending a single finger to rub the silky fur between his nostrils, delighted when he didn't move away and continued to sniff her hand.

Newt stood close behind her, his front a solid line of warmth down her back and she suddenly found it hard to concentrate on anything but his alluring smell and the heat emanating from his body.

"He trusts you, see?" He whispered close to her ear and she shivered in reaction. "That's it, Albert. She won't hurt you."

Tina snickered, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles and the spell was broken. "Albert?" she chortled. "Really?"

"It's a good, strong name," he said a little defensively, smiling all the while and rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. "It means noble and bright, and if it's fit for a prince consort —"

"— it's a perfectly reasonable name for a golden horse. Of course. I didn't expect anything less from you," she teased good-naturedly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, thoroughly endeared when he bashfully ducked his head, a soft blush colouring his cheeks.

Her hand moved to his face on its own accord, gentle fingers moulding to the angle of his jaw and encouraging him to lift his gaze to hers. "Don't hide from me," she breathed and his mouth curved into a gentle smile. "I meant what I said before. I adore you, Newt. All of you. Funny horse noises and all."

He laughed at that, smiling toothily before leaning close, softly butting his forehead against hers. They stayed like that for a time, wrapped up in each other, and Newt had just moved in for a kiss when something pumped into him from behind. He sighed, putting a finger to her lips.

"Hold that thought for just a moment," he whispered before stepping away, and she bit her lip to keep herself from grinning like a fool.

Albert had crept up close to them, rubbing his head against his caretaker's side and chewing on his trouser leg; whether he was looking for more treats or simply demanding attention Tina couldn't say. Newt dug around in his trouser pockets, retrieving two tiny objects before Enlarging them and she gawked at the bottles in his hand. He Summoned an iron basin and emptied their contents into it.

"Single Malt Whiskey. It's the only thing he will drink, I have not yet figured out why," he explained and Tina refrained from asking just exactly how he'd thought of feeding liquor to his horse.

Albert moved towards the basin with eager steps, lowering his head to the surface and pursing his lips to take large, greedy pulls of the amber liquid. Tina shook her head, intrigued, before accepting Newt's hand and following into the inviting shade of the chestnut tree. He lowered himself onto the ground, toeing off his boots and extending his legs before patting the space in the grass beside him.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, tapping a finger against her chin and pretending to give the matter some thought, suddenly feeling playful. "Grass stains are notoriously difficult to charm out of white clothes."

"I can get you one of the blankets in my shed if you'd be more comfortable — oomph!" Newt cut himself off, landing clear on his back with an armful of Tina. She'd meant to deposit herself in his lap but had miscalculated, toppling them over to land in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs instead. Graceful as always, Goldstein, she chided herself.

She pushed herself up on her elbows and a wave of chestnut hair fell into her face, partially concealing the healthy blush blooming on her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she said, biting her lip and lowering her gaze in embarrassment.

"It's quite alright," he rasped hoarsely, lifting a hand to gently tug the lock of hair back behind her ear before using his thumb to free her lower lip.

She found and held his gaze, intrigued by the small flecks of gold revealed by the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees. "Even your eyes have freckles," she murmured, fascinated, lifting a hand to brush the overlong fringe off his forehead, the tips of her fingers caressing his skin in the lightest of touches.

His fingers tightened on her jaw, gently pulling her closer while his other hand pressed into her lower back to keep her there, finally claiming her lips and stealing the breath from her lungs.

Tina shifted against him, rearranging herself, placing one knee at either side of his hips as she curled over him. He traced her bottom lip with his tongue and she parted her lips on instinct, sighing in welcome as he stroked her from within and his fingers tangled in the loose material of her blouse. She broke the contact with a gasp, glad to be on solid ground as he didn't skip a beat and latched on to the sensitive patch of skin on her neck, gently nipping and suckling in turn.

Her fingers sought purchase, fisting the collar of his shirt where he had opened the first few buttons at his throat. Newt leaned back to catch her gaze when she made to pop the remaining buttons from their eye and reached to press her hand against his chest, stilling her movement.

"Tina," he began, feeling a little tongue-tied, remembering his mother's shocked gasp the first time she'd seen the scars marring his skin. "There's — I'm not sure you'll want to take this off. I don't want to frighten you."

She scoffed, not unkindly, turning her wrist to gently squeeze his fingers. "There's very little you can do or show me that'll change my mind about you, Newt; I mean it. Let me see you. Please?"

He contemplated her for a moment, remaining silent as he lifted her fingers to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face, and kissed her knuckles before sitting up. She took it as the permission it was and her hands made quick work of the buttons at his front as he pulled her closer in his lap, running his fingers up and down her sides.

His shirt fell open, revealing the expanse of bronzed, freckled skin of his chest and abdomen. Her eyes flitted upwards to meet his for a brief moment before undoing his cuffs and helping him shrug out of his shirt.

Newt averted his eyes, staring at her left ear and waiting for the recoil that never came. His body was littered with delicate silver lines and larger welts, obvious teeth and claw marks that had sliced through his flesh, and a healthy smattering of freckles dotted every inch of exposed skin.

Tina reached out a tentative hand, brushing one of the prominent scars on his chest, much too close to his heart for her liking, softly outlining it with her fingertips. He flinched but didn't make a sound.

"It's not much to look at, now you understand why I didn't —" he began but she cut him off with a quick kiss, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

She leaned down, replacing her fingers with her lips and pressing a kiss to the patch of uneven skin on his chest. "Beautiful," she breathed, delighting in his shocked intake of air before moving on to the next and repeating the gesture.

His hands found a home in her hair, fingers tangling in the silky soft strands as she placed gentle, open-mouthed kisses on his skin, mapping the various marks and clusters of freckles along his arms and torso while breathing adorations into his skin.

"You're beautiful, Newt," she said, finally rising to meet his eyes before pressing a palm to his heart. "Here especially."

The look on his face matched the perplex disbelief she remembered from that day on the docks, when she'd asked after Leta Lestrange. The day she'd given him permission to call on her again.

He surged forward, his sure movements a direct counterpart to the hesitant glances of moments ago as he framed her face with both hands, kissing her forehead and skimming across her cheeks, pressing his lips to each of her eyelids in turn before covering her mouth with his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Crimson Petals**

This story is fully written and beta'd and will be updated every Tuesday and Friday until the movie release in November. The biggest thank you goes to njckle and Katie Havok for their fantastic alpha and beta reading and all the encouragement, support and patience.

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CHAPTER TWO

A low rumble reverberates through the halls, announcing its arrival as the walls begin to rock and the floor quivers below their feet. Small pieces of plaster and stone rain from the ceiling when a second thunderous groan takes the building. Queenie stops in her tracks as one of her female colleagues screams in terror and rises to her feet along with the other three employees still seated around their desks. Their floor is almost deserted, with most of MACUSA is upstairs watching the President's address, but Queenie had chosen to remain.

 _Be prepared at any moment_ , was all he'd told her. Is this it? Is this the sign?

They jump into action simultaneously, hurrying towards the lifts to make their way up to the surface. Queenie hesitates only a moment, knowing they will overlook her in their haste and slips around the corner towards the familiar staircase, pulling off her heels to silently descend to the basement instead.

The air is rife with the pungent smell of smoke and heavy with dust when Tina wakes. She blinks as her vision slips in and out of focus until she's vaguely able to make out the shapes of people moving, climbing over chunks of crumbled ceiling and bent metal as chips of plaster and ash fall like silent snow. An eerie ringing noise fills her ears, muffling every sound as she lifts her hand to her forehead in confusion, fingering the sticky warm substance at her hairline, and her fingers come away with blood.

Tina springs upright in a sudden rush of adrenaline, oblivious to her own injuries as she scans the room, driven by an incomprehensible sense of urgency. There's someone she needs to find, but she doesn't know who. She grabs onto the wall for support as the world spins around her and she stands on wobbly legs, willing her feet to move. The fog in her mind slowly begins to clear while the dust around her starts to settle.

The extent of the damage unfolds in front of her eyes as it does, and her hand clamps over her mouth to muffle the cry of terror clawing at her throat as she her gaze sweeps across the bodies half-buried beneath the rubble and dust, some moving and some unnaturally still, limbs bent all wrong, and her mind struggles to keep up with her eyes.

Natural light floods the hall through an opening where there wasn't one before. She doesn't know how long she's been unconscious and her head begins to swim anew as she struggles to remember, struggles to comprehend what happened. Weren't they at a press conference mere moments ago?

A face appears in front of her eyes, familiar features she's unable to place immediately, and a gentle hand steadies her by the arm to help her sit on a piece of fallen stone. "Goldstein, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

"Ruby," she murmurs after a time and receives a tight smile in return.

"That's right. Do you know where we are?" Ruby asks, trying and failing to mask her own trembling hands with another encouraging smile.

"The atrium, I think," Tina says, licking her lips and tasting dust before suddenly shooting out a hand to wrap around the woman's arm. "What's happened? Where's Queenie, where's my sister?"

"I don't know, honey. I haven't seen her — " she starts, but Tina cuts her off, trying to pull herself upright on unsteady feet.

"I've got to find her!" she exclaims, brushing off Ruby's well-meaning hands as the urge to find her sister becomes overwhelming.

Tina stumbles on through the chaos, trying not to think of what she's stepping over as she blindly searches for a glimpse of her sister's golden head. Deep down Tina knows Queenie is alright, must be, convinced she would have felt it if something had happened to her little sister. Tears sting her eyes along with the dust still clinging to her skin and clothes, and she reaches up press a hand to her aching head. "Queenie, where in the name of Deliverance Dane are you?"

Queenie runs along the corridor on silent feet, pressing herself flush against the wall as she reaches her destination. There's light in the room around the corner, where she can barely make out the twin shadows of the two guards moving about, nervously whispering among themselves.

"It's an explosion, I'm telling you!" one man says, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fear and agitation.

The second man scoffs in clear defiance."That's impossible. There's more aurors than people up there."

Queenie recognises one of the men by the familiar colour of his thoughts and her face falls. There's no helping it. _Frankie,_ she thinks at him, _I'm so sorry. Forgive me._

She clutches her throat as a wave of all-consuming guilt threatens to bury her, and it's Jacob's smiling face she thinks of as reaches out with her mind, gently breaching his and planting the thought neatly between his own. The effect is immediate, and she forces herself to turn away when ice blue fear overtakes his senses.

"We gotta go, John. My wife's up there!" Frankie cries and Queenie cringes, feeling no pride in her success.

"But, we can't. The prisoner — " John interjects.

"What's he going to do? He just sits there all day drooling and staring at the wall. He's perfectly harmless. Let's go, they won't know a thing!" Frankie says and Queenie quickly presses herself into a dark corner, barely daring to breathe as they run past.

She wastes a moment on consoling herself that his wife is nowhere near the Woolworth Building before she rushes forward and into the light. Grindelwald is already waiting for her, looking up expectantly as she slides her open powder box through the iron bars of his cell. "Get in," she breathes and his face pulls into a grin.

The powder box hits her thigh with every step she takes, burning a hole into her pocket as she rushes upstairs, knowing she only has moments before someone is bound to notice his absence. The scene that greets her nearly pulls the floor from under her feet. She reaches for the wall to steady herself, one hand clamping over her mouth to stifle a shocked outcry as her eyes survey the chaos and devastation. The hollow feeling inside expands until she feels like an empty shell, with no strength to give, no strength to fight.

 _Morgana, I didn't want for any of this. What have I done?_

Shock gives way to naked fear when her head catches up with her eyes, and she reaches out with her mind, near frantic as she searches for the familiar mental presence of her sister.

"Queenie!" Tina's voice slashes through the clamour and chaos like the clean cut of a razor blade, and Queenie turns towards the sound like a flower straining towards the sun. They collide amidst the crumbling ruins of MACUSA, clutching each other tight, their own, individual demons temporarily forgotten. Tina reaches to cradle her sister's skull as Queenie sobs in the crook of her neck, soaking through her shirt.

"It'll be alright," Tina murmurs into her hair as she feels the fine tremors shaking her sister's frame. "You're alright." Queenie wants to tell her that nothing will be alright, that it's all her doing, but she can't bring herself to utter a word aloud, throat clogged with tears and emotions. She looks into her sister's honest eyes, tasting her relief, and suppresses the urge to _howl_.

Tina. Brave, loving Tina, who's done nothing but help and support Queenie in any way she possibly could. Tina, who loves so unconditionally, who won't think twice about throwing herself into harm's way if it's to protect another. Tina, who doesn't know how her world is about to be turned on its head at the hands of her own sister. They stand before the ruin of their life as they've known it, the explosion like the starting sound of a gun in a war that's sure to come.

This is just the beginning, Queenie's sure of it.

She pushes away to brush a hand over her eyes once she's in full control of her limbs, banishing the bitter tears of guilt coating her cheeks. Her eyes roam her sister's face, lingering on the nasty cut along her brow. _I put that there,_ she thinks, and suppresses a fresh wave of tears. "It's not me I'm worried about. Look at your head!"

Tina smiles, a smile that's gentle and bright, and speaks of relief as she reaches up to gingerly brush her fingers along the wound. "I've had worse. You know I have."

Of course, Queenie knows, no longer keeping track of the cuts and bruises she's had to mend and heal since her sister joined the force. This one is different, and she swallows at the black ball of dread that forms in the pit of her stomach. The scar is but a small reminder of the shift about to come, of the lives irrevocably altered, and the paths forever changed.

Her hand moves automatically to cover the pocket holding the powder box. It's heavy, heavier than usual with the knowledge of her actions, the knowledge that she's helped bring about this hurt and suffering, and she closes her eyes against the sting as fresh tears slip down her face.

Tina makes a soothing sound and gentle fingers rise to stroke Queenie's cheek. There's a small commotion behind them and Queenie recognises one of the guards from Grindelwald's cell. His eyes are frantic as his face contorted in fear and she knows what's about to happen. _And so it begins_ , she thinks.

"He's gone!" his panicked voice triumphs above the pandemonium of sounds and everyone stops in their tracks as silence descends. "Grindelwald is gone!"

" _Mercy Lewis,_ " Tina breaths and her hand closes around her sister's arm, squeezing painfully as their gazes meet. Queenie isn't prepared for this, neither of them is, but they spring into action simultaneously as MACUSA dissolves into chaos for the second time that day.

 **The same day, Hertfordshire, England**

Newt rushes along the gravel-covered drive, conscious of the high-pitched shrieking from his waistcoat pocket where he'd stashed his watch. He doesn't need to consult it to know what the clock face says — _You're late! You're later than late!_ It reads in angry, red letters.

Indeed, he does find himself running behind schedule on an obligatory family dinner yet again, as is his fashion of late. If one is caring for a suitcase full of magical creatures, time becomes a rather nebulous concept of little to no importance. Sometimes he manages to weasel his way out of these dinners, yet his mother insisted on his company on this occasion, sending two owls, three department missives and his own _brother_ to wrangle him in. His mother has always been a force to be reckoned with and she knows she usually gets her way.

She is standing in the doorway when he arrives, kind blue eyes focused on her youngest son as he hurries towards the house. Her beautiful, long auburn hair has long since turned silver, now artfully draped around her head, accenting her joy as she beams up at Newt. His mother reaches for him to pull him down to her level, pressing a warm kiss to his forehead in welcome.

"My Newt," she breathes as she holds his face between both hands. "It's been too long."

"It's been two weeks. But it's good to see you, too, mother," he says, lips pulling into a fond half smile as she pats his cheek before releasing him.

"Good lad. Now come inside, let me get some food into you. Merlin knows you need it. Look at you — you're just skin and bones! Theseus, too," she huffs and reaches for his coat as soon as he's crossed the threshold.

"Yes, mother," Newt murmurs, grinning to himself as he obediently sheds his outer layers, knowing better than to argue as he hands her his coat.

His mother heaves a weighty sigh of disapproval, and he steels himself for the inevitable lecture. "Newt, this just won't do. You're a published author now, and you're going to have to start looking the part!" He smiles sheepishly as she holds up his battered blue coat accusingly. "This thing has more holes and tears than you have freckles, darling. Did something _chew_ on this?"

He sighs and refrains from telling her that's precisely what happened, slipping on his protective coat of nonchalance instead. "Oh, you know how I don't bother much with appearances. The creatures certainly don't mind," he says and smiles toothily, leaning down to deposit a kiss on her weather-roughened cheek.

"I'm sure, Newton, but you're no longer crawling through the underbrush of the South American rainforest. I agree, humans can be foolish, simple-minded creatures and should be treated thus. But they won't be impressed if this brilliant new author they've come to see looks positively _feral_ ," she continues, picking a piece of straw off the jacket sleeve and pinning him with a pointed stare.

Newt gulps, throat bobbing, as he catalogues the characteristic twinkle in her eye and the firm set of her jaw, eyebrows raised in challenge as if daring him to disagree. He knows that look, has known it ever since he was a small boy; it's pointless to try and argue with her. His mother had always got her way and that isn't going to change anytime soon, whether he is five years old or nearing thirty.

"I'm going to write to Delphine immediately. She'll have to come and take your measurements. We'll get you some proper new clothes and one of these beautiful new overcoats," she rattles on as they continue down the hall. "Something a little more neutral, perhaps? You'd look dashing in grey, dear."

(If he is being honest with himself, there' _s_ someone he would like to impress, but surely she wouldn't be bothered about the colour of his coat or the length of his slacks.)

"As you wish, mother," he says to appease her, stifling another grin as they reach the family dining room at the end of the corridor. It's a generous and impressive affair with high floor-to-ceiling windows and heavy satin drapery, and a fireplace large enough for Newt to walk into without bending his head.

There's a figure standing in front of the windows in the corner, dark hair piled high, exposing the elegant curve of her neck as she looks out over the gardens. Newt swallows heavily, barely noticing his mother's presence as he drinks in her figure. He'd forgotten how short she is, and how lovely. A memory flashes across his inner eye, there and gone again, transporting him back into the past, a happier, carefree time before everything changed. His mother touches his arm and excuses herself to the kitchen, but he hardly hears her.

The woman turns as if on cue, hesitantly meeting his eyes from across the room as her lips pull into an uncharacteristic, hesitant smile. "Newt," she breathes and he wants to close his eyes against the sound of her voice, and the memories it provokes. It's been years, yet it might as well have been yesterday.

"Hello, Leta," he says to her shoulder, avoiding her eyes. Her large, beautiful dark eyes that captured his soul and followed him into his dreams. They still haunt him sometimes.

She sashays closer and he tries to focus on the soft _swish_ of her fine silk gown, undoubtedly of her own creation, cursing his mother's ill timing as he clears his throat to stall for time. "Where's father and Theseus?"

"Having a drink in the library," she answers easily. "It's good to see you, truly. I didn't think you'd come."

"Yes, well. I'm not here on my own free will, if you're wondering. Theseus can be a real pest if he wants to be," he says, joking weekly, hands awkwardly dangling by his sides.

"That he is," she agrees easily, desperate to keep the conversation going and chancing a small smile in his direction. He inclines his head, refusing to meet her gaze, and imagines the silhouette of her hurt and guilt reflected in her eyes. It brings him no joy.

"Oh, stop whinging, Newton. Talking about me, I presume?" Theseus choses that moment to waltz into the room, and Newt's never been happier to see his brother as the atmosphere instantly warms by few degrees. He nearly chokes when Theseus wraps him in a bone-crushing hug, slapping his brother's back hard enough to force the air from his lungs. "Good to see you, old chap. I just heard. Congratulations!"

It's the first family meeting they're all able to attend, with Theseus off chasing Grindelwald's followers across the continent. The first family dinner since that fateful evening in early December. Newt cringes at the memory, the day when Theseus had come home with a broad grin on his face and Leta hanging off his arm. The evening they announced their engagement.

All his food had tasted like ashes afterwards.

He'd ended that night in a drunken stupor, excusing himself from the dinner table as soon as it was socially acceptable, returning to his own flat and the comforts of his favourite bottle of Scottish whisky. The decision to travel to New York had been born of that night's drunken haze, and of the sheer devastation and hollow longing in his chest. When he awoke the next day, entirely too sober, it hadn't ceased, so he'd purchased a ticket to travel within the week.

Newt and Theseus had addressed the issue precisely once, the night after Newt's return from America. Catching up over a pint down at the pub that turned into two, then three, then five until the alcohol had loosened their tongues and they conversed in easy camaraderie, just like they'd always done. They talked about Leta and New York, about Newt's newfound friends, and the set of expressive brown eyes he couldn't get off his mind.

Theseus seems to sense his brother's line of thought and clears his throat, gesturing towards the table as their parents enter the room.

The dinner is a happy affair, more joyous than any other family gathering in recent years, and Newt can't help feeling like their family is finally whole again. Leta had been such a constant presence in their lives ever since they were children, spending more time at the Scamander estate than at her own family home. She fits back into their space like it's the most natural thing in the world, taking her seat at the table as if she'd never left.

It all changed the day of the incident at school, that unfortunate fall from grace he'd agreed to take, and Leta's absence had left a gaping hole in all their lives. It had been nearly unbearable, trying to shoulder his father's anger and disappointment without her by his side. Now, she has simply slid back into place, like the missing piece of the puzzle you were waiting to complete, like she's never even been gone at all.

"Leta, dear, how's that dress for the duchess coming along?" their mother asks after the second course, gently touching Leta's forearm in a motherly gesture.

Leta swallows delicately before showing an earnest smile. "Swimmingly, actually," she says. "She's coming for the last fitting tomorrow —"

A sudden whooshing noise makes her pause, and they nearly jump out of their skin when a heron patronus takes shape in the middle of their dining room, hovering a few feet above the ground. " _The Minister of Magic will arrive in twenty-one seconds_ ," a woman's monotonous voice announces before it dissipates.

"Good heavens!" Mrs Scamander exclaims as the fireplace suddenly roars to life and large, emerald green flames erupt from its centre. There's the clutter of silverware against porcelain and the scraping of chair legs on timber as everyone stands abruptly.

"Merlin's bloody beard, what could Fawley possibly want at this hour?" Mr Scamander muses aloud.

The flames part to emit a tall gentleman around their fathers age, his face is severe, all sharp angles and bones and there's a tired look around his eyes as he stands before them. He takes off his hat to incline his head in greeting.

"Good evening, Cepheus, Delia. I'm sorry to intrude on your family gathering," he addresses their parents, nodding at them in turn before smiling at Newt. "Congratulations on the book, Newton. Good on you, dear boy."

"Thank you, Minister," Newt murmurs and lowers his head in thanks.

"Good evening, Hector," Mr. Scamander says and gestures towards an empty chair. "Why don't you have a seat?"

"I thank you, but I don't mean to keep you long, Cepheus. I'm here on business, and I'll need to be quick about it." His eyes fall on Theseus and he heaves a great sigh, hands gripping the back of a chair until his knuckles turn white. "Though, I might as well tell you all since you'll be reading it in the papers tomorrow."

"Sir?" Theseus asks and a deep furrow appears between his eyebrows. Newt knows this expression, but he doesn't have to look at his brother to know this is serious. The Minister of Magic wouldn't be standing in their dining room if it weren't a matter of great importance.

"There's been an _incident_ in New York this afternoon — an attack of sorts," he concedes and Mrs Scamander covers her mouth to suppress a gasp. Newt's heart drops to the pit of his stomach as an ice cold shiver runs the length of his spine.

 _Tina,_ he thinks in despair, and clutches his middle as his stomach gives a painful lurch like he is about to lose his dinner. It takes all his willpower not to jump up and Apparate to the Ministry himself, the urge to contact her almost unbearable, yet he knows it's no use. He'll have to look to his brother for news.

"Again? Do we know who's behind it? Is it linked to the incident in Amsterdam?" Mr Scamander interrupts, face as white as the linen covering the table.

Minister Fawley holds up his hand. "It appears to follow the same patterns, yes. We don't know much, but it comes at a rather devastating loss of human life," he says, face grim. "But there's more. It seems during the confusion…" Fawley heaves a great sigh and reaches for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "Grindelwald has managed to elude the Americans."

"Grindelwald has escaped MACUSA's custody? How's that even possible?" Theseus asks in disbelief as Newt's insides turn to ice.

 _Will we die, just a little?_

"We don't know yet how, and MACUSA are being tight-lipped as ever. If they know anything, they're not telling us. I thought that perhaps your brother — since he's been just recently —" The minister starts, gesturing towards Newt, who snaps out of his thoughts to vehemently shake his head.

"I'm sorry, Minister, but you're mistaken in your assumptions. I wouldn't know," he says and shares a quick glance with his brother.

"Do we know anything yet?" Mrs Scamander interjects and presses a hand to her chest, her face the precise colour of ash as the candle light reflects off the diamond dangling from her ear.

"There's been an explosion during a public address, they were extraditing him to Switzerland to stand trial. MACUSA is citing internal investigations, so we know little." He wipes his forehead again and manages a thin, reassuring smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Of course, even if he manages to return there's no reason for him to come to Britain. We aren't in any danger, so these are simply precautionary measures."

"I will accompany you to the Ministry," Theseus says without preamble and the Minister nods in thanks before donning his hat.

"It was good to see you all. I wish it would have been under more joyous circumstances, but alas. Good evening." He bows his head before walking back to the fireplace.

"Thes!" Newt hisses under his breath, catching his brother's forearm to prevent him from turning away. "One of my friends — she's an auror at MACUSA." They share a meaningful look.

"Anything I find out, I'll let you know," Theseus whispers as he leans close and squeezes his shoulder before following the Minister into the flames. Newt sags into his chair and wipes a broad hand across his face as he fears for his friends.

"Well, what a pleasant end to the evening," his mother comments, voice dripping with sarcasm as she folds her serviette and places it next to her plate.

Newt thinks he couldn't agree more.


End file.
